


If Not Later, When?

by j_gabrielle



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Inspired by Call Me By Your Name, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 23:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17273306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: Years from now, when he is old and gray and has forgotten everything but a single name, when everything about him has gone away, he'll remember this summer and the love he found here and how this summer will always belong to him and Arthur and the ways they belong to each other.





	If Not Later, When?

**Author's Note:**

> 🍑

Orm watches from the window of his room as the rickety cab skids to a stop on the gravel of their driveway. Even from his perch, he can hear the blast of Top 40 drifting through the molten sunshine. He keeps his eyes fixed on the man who steps out of the cab, shaking the driver's hand and exchanging a few convivial unintelligible words, before straightening himself to greet Father. 

The newcomer, another one of his parent's summer projects, stands and chats. Billowy blue shirt that sit wide open at the collar divulges gorgeous tan skin that glisten in the sun, the peek of tattoos, long hair swept up in a bun, and a beard that would never have shaken a leaf from him, has him craning his neck out to look. 

"Ah! Orm, come down here and help Arthur with the bags!" 

"Yes Father."

Orm doesn't bump into him in the hallway when he picks up the man's single solitary bag.

Maybe it starts soon after his arrival over one of the late morning sessions in Father's study working through the correspondences and research notes. Or maybe it was in the kitchen watching Mother bantering with the revolving door of aunts and cousins and neighbours and hikers who have seemed to wander up the driveway and are now being treated to lunch and cakes. Or perhaps it was the beach when the household tumbles down the path to it. Or the walks Orm takes him on, showing him all his secret places he has never shown anyone else.

More than likely not it starts on the balcony at midnight while he watches Arthur's profile under the moonlight as he smokes his cigarettes, smiling when Orm says something clever. The hunching of his shoulders as they laugh. In their first kiss. Their second. The third. In the whispered confessions they share in the hush of Orm's room. In their touches. In the way Orm wants, with every part of him, he wants Arthur.

"Here."

Arthur reaches over and feeds him the slice of peach he had just picked from the garden. Sweet and tart, the juices dancing over his tongue. Orm smiles. 

"Again."

Arthur does. This time Arthur slips his thumb past his lips, pressing down. Orm laughs, hand on his strong thigh. Like this, backlit by the sunshine, Arthur looks like a god. 

"Good?" He asks.

Orm plucks the fruit from Arthur's hand, taking a bite. Hitching a leg over Arthur's hips, straddling him. Holding him by the cheeks, he leans in, sharing the taste in the press of their lips. 

"Good." Orm licks away the juices that slip from the corner of Arthur's mouth. "Very good."

Orm thinks he grew into his skin that summer. Blooming under the sunlight and rain, the music and the nature sounds. Every part of him not left untouched. Shaped by the way Arthur loves him, the little pockets of knowledge learnt and discovered in the study, on the trips they make to the university library. Remade into the start of a garden with the ways Arthur says his name.

Years from now, when he is old and gray and has forgotten everything but a single name, when everything about him has gone away, he'll remember this summer and the love he found here and how this summer will always belong to him and Arthur and the ways they belong to each other.

But then again, the best summers all have a special way of slipping through like sand shifting through fingers.

And soon, too soon, it's just him and Arthur on his bed, on the last night he is in the house. His things are packed in his single solitary bag in the corner of the room with only the billowy blue shirt from that first day hanging in his closet. Orm opens his mouth to speak, only to be hushed by the taste of cigarettes and coffee in Arthur's kiss.

"Call me by your name, and I'll call you by mine." He murmurs, pressing their foreheads close, sharing air, holding him.

"Orm." Orm whispers, swapping the word from his mouth to Arthur's mouth.

Arthur smiles, and so he does too because the alternative would be to cry. "Arthur," He cradles him close. Kissing him again and again, as if Orm can stave away the coming dawn with each and every single one. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur." He breathes.

He spends extra moments running his fingers through Arthur's hair, wishing, not for the first time that summer, that he could keep a lock of his hair like one of those lovelorn lovers of the past. He belongs to Arthur, just as Arthur belongs to him in all the ways they will never belong to anyone else. Orm memorises Arthur; the smell of him, the weight of him, the way he is in his arms. 

Too soon, they are on the train platform. Both unable to speak. Tongues thick and heavy with grief at their parting. Orm wants to reach out to Arthur, to reassure him that this is real, they are real. But the moment moves, and the announcement comes through the speakers. 

Arthur pulls him in, wrapping him up in a hug. Orm buries his face in the crook of his neck, and when he pulls away, he turns and walks right for the entrance without looking back because if he did he'd never stop. He is halfway to the main doors, when he feels the barrelling of a body against his.

"I'll be back." Arthur says. He brands the words to the back of his neck like a brand. Orm nods, one hand touching the arm that holds him.

"I know."

When Arthur walks away, he keeps his eyes straight at the sunshine, and steps through to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (j_gabrielle), Dreamwidth (j_gabrielle) and Tumblr (randomingoftherandomness, hardheartshere).
> 
> For those who say that I never said anything, it is clearly stated on my AO3 profile bio.
> 
> I do not have a Twitter account. 
> 
> I do not have a Wattpad account. 
> 
> **Please Do Not Repost My Fics**


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